


High Times

by hairbearstare



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drug Use, Kink Meme, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9583973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hairbearstare/pseuds/hairbearstare
Summary: Written for the Inception Kink Meme // Original prompt;Between jobs, Eames and Arthur are complete stoners (and completely in love). They spend their days sleeping and their nights getting high and wandering around whatever city they happen to be in, having mini-adventures and ending each night with clumsy frottage and/or handjobs under a tree in a park or somewhere else equally as cliche. They never do this while they're working; this is just how they blow off steam together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posting things from my old Livejournal. Hello, fandom, I have missed you dearly. Hopefully going to start writing more new things soon after what feels like a zillion years away from writing. Are you still alive, Inception fandom?? I hope so.

“Eames, for the love of God, get up. It’s five o’clock.”  
  
Arthur’s voice cut like a knife through the sleepy fog that surrounded Eames’s mind. It was almost painful the way Arthur’s voice could do that—like the voice of God... or Satan, Eames wasn’t really sure. He groaned and slung his forearm over his eyes. His skull felt like it was overstuffed with cotton—like a fairground stuffed animal. His limbs felt heavy and his stomach painfully empty. “Five o’clock in the morning?”  
  
“In the evening.”  
  
“That would make more sense,” Eames mumbled, lips quirking up at the corners. “We went to bed at what? Six?”  
  
Arthur snorted and pulled the obscenely warm comforter off of Eames. “Well, the sun was starting to rise, so six seems like a good estimate,” he scoffed. “Now get up. At least I had the decency to wake up at two today.”  
  
“The coffee’s cold by now, then, isn’t it?”  
  
“Ice cold.”  
  
“You heartless bastard.”  
  
\---  
  
Eames simply tossed a mug of stagnant coffee in the microwave and drank it to relieve the heaviness in his head. His skin felt like it was sagging right off of his face. At least Vancouver was warm in August, so the kitchen floor wasn’t freezing and he had no qualms about walking about shirtless.  
  
Vancouver probably wasn’t the top vacation choice for many in the dream sharing business—it was an average city with average entertainment value, not too many historical landmarks or interesting architecture and, sure, the Olympics were held there years ago, but that was hardly relevant past 2011 and most of the world had forgotten.  
  
But the city held a special place in both Eames’s and Arthur’s hearts for one reason and one reason only—the incredible amount of quality, readily available BC Bud.  
  
The truth of the matter was that Arthur and Eames really liked getting high. In fact, they would tack it up as one of their favourite pastimes, next to sex and, in Arthur’s case, crossword puzzles. They never indulged in this pastime during jobs, however. They were a very professional pair and focused intently on their work when need be. They couldn’t very well be stoned and hooked up to a PASIV—they could only imagine the fuckery that would go on in their dreams if they went under high.  
  
But between jobs, they had no reason _not_ to indulge. Besides, it was relaxing.  
  
BC Bud was, in their opinion, one of the highest grades of pot out there. They had tried others, of course—G-13, Hawaiian Snow, White Widow and everything in between. They went to the Cannabis Cup every year in Amsterdam and smoked up every kind of pot they could get their hands on—Tangerine Dream, Eames said, “tasted exactly like those Vitamin C chewables I had as a kid”.  
  
But they always came back to good old Vancouver for a fresh helping of what BC grows best.  
  
They would stay in Vancouver for weeks at a time, sleep until four in the afternoon every day, smoke up and stay high until they couldn’t stay awake anymore. Sometimes they would fuck if they could stay hard or stay awake long enough to get off—most of the time they would just lay down on the mattress on the floor and make out for what seemed like hours. It was enough.  
  
Eames liked falling asleep with the buzzing in his head and Arthur’s back pressed to his chest.  
  
Eames sipped his stale-tasting, microwave warmed coffee as he stared at Arthur, dressed in a pair of hip-hugging jeans and a slim fit Led Zeppelin t-shirt. His hair was loose and looked like it needed to be cut. It was hanging in his eyes in loose curls and the ends were starting to flip upwards at the back. He looked far younger than he actually was—almost like a teenager. Eames chuckled around the rim of the mug.  
  
He reached into one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a rolled-up Ziploc bag of weed. “So what are we up to tonight, darling?”  
  
“Don’t really care,” Arthur sighed, stretching his arms above his head, shirt riding up just enough to reveal a thin strip of lovely skin.  
  
“Would you like to go out or stay in?” Eames hummed, taking out a dried bud and snipping at it over a magazine with a small pair of scissors, beginning to push any stems or seeds off to the side.  
  
“Stay in. We went out last night, I’m tired.”  
  
Eames grinned and pressed the smaller chunks into a grinder. Once ground into finer pieces, Eames finally started rolling the first joint of the day. “I have a brilliant idea.”  
  
Arthur smirked as Eames licked the rolling paper as he deftly and expertly rolled it into a familiar shape. “Oh? And what would that be?”  
  
Arthur plucked the joint from Eames’s lips and snatched the lighter. He lit up, inhaled and held it, closing his eyes. He opened his mouth and exhaled slowly as possible, letting the thick smoke rise over his face and into the air. Eames snatched it back and kissed Arthur gently, whispering against his lips, “You’ll see.”  
  
\---  
  
“This is the surprise?” Arthur snorted, later that evening, “hotboxing in the bathroom? We’ve done this a million times.”  
  
“Oh, no, I have other things in mind, too.” Eames grinned. He lit up again and took a deep inhale, passing it off to Arthur afterwards. He pressed some towels against the cracks in the window and the doors, hopefully to prevent most of the smoke from escaping.  
  
“It better not be your dick in a box again,” Arthur grumbled, glaring suspiciously at Eames.  
  
It was around the third joint, when they were both completely relaxed and giggling and the bathroom was thick with smoke, that Eames pulled out his surprise.  
  
They had set up a stereo in the bathroom—as well as hid some snacks under the sink—just for such occasions. Eames leaned over the stereo and stuck in a CD at the same time Arthur was opening a big bag of Cheetos. As the first few notes of _In the Flesh?_ drifted through the room, Arthur’s hands froze.  
  
“Holy shit,” he breathed, staring wide-eyed at Eames. “Holy shit! When did you buy _The Wall_? This is my favourite Pink Floyd album.”  
  
Eames smiled wider and took the Cheetos, popping a few into his mouth. “I know. That’s why I bought it for you, darling.”  
  
Arthur closed his eyes and waved his fingers in the air to the rhythm of the guitar, swaying slightly against the tiled wall. “Swallow those Cheetos, Mr. Eames, and come here,” he hummed, reaching out and grabbing the collar of Eames’s t-shirt.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Eames purred, pressing his lips to Arthur’s. They didn’t stop until the last notes of _Goodbye Cruel World_ faded through the bathroom.  
  
\---  
  
“I have a surprise for you.”  
  
Arthur stared up at Eames. He was only partially baked and not nearly inebriated enough to trust Eames fully. “Oh, really?” He frowned. It was days later—Arthur wasn’t counting how many—and he supposed he was a little more inclined to trusting the Brit after the Pink Floyd incident, but not completely.  
  
“You’ll like it, I promise. Now pack up a couple of joints a bag of food, we’re going out.” Eames’s grin showed off the top row of his teeth and Arthur narrowed his eyes.  
  
“This better be something good,” he snorted.  
  
“Always is,” Eames shrugged, stripping off his clothes—they stank, so Arthur, for one, was glad.  
  
Arthur did as he was asked, packing some raw hot dogs, chips, Skittles, M &Ms, rootbeer and weed into a backpack. He changed into fresh smelling clothes as well, and followed Eames out the door to wherever he was taking them.  
  
After a bus ride downtown and through, Arthur realized they were heading towards Stanley Park. It was almost midnight and Arthur wondered why the _hell_ they were headed towards the park so late.  
  
“Because,” Eames hummed, “the park is huge, and it’s empty at night. And I know a place where we can sit alone and eat in peace.”  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes, but followed anyways. Eames dragged him deeper and deeper into the pitch black park, trees looming over them ominously. The only thing lighting their path was the occasional street lamp and Arthur wondered, somewhere in the back of his mind, if Eames knew where he was going. He certainly hoped so. Weirdos hung out in the deep corners of Stanley Park and would be more than inclined to mug a couple of stumbling, stoned men.  
  
“Here we are!” Eames announced after a little more walking.  
  
They were in front of a giant, ancient hollowed out tree. Arthur’s jaw hung slack. He’d heard about the big hollow tree, but never had the time or motivation to actually visit it. It was _huge_. The inside could easily fit a car—it was taped off—and towered over every other tree in the area. The trunk felt rough like sandpaper and dry.  
  
“Come on inside, darling, and bring that lovely picnic with you.”  
  
Arthur grinned widely and ducked under the rope blocking the tree, sitting down on the inside of the tree. He placed the backpack between himself and Eames. He pulled out a lighter and a joint first, lighting it in a swift movement. “This is a nice surprise,” he murmured, exhaling smoke. The inside of his skull tingled pleasantly.  
  
“I figured you would like it,” Eames sighed, taking a long hit.  
  
“I do.” Arthur smiled, leaning forward and kissing the corner of Eames’s mouth. “I do.”  
  
Eames nodded and kissed Arthur quickly, laughing lightly. They sat there in amiable silence, getting nicely toasted, eating raw hotdogs and giggling when Eames sucked at that hotdog with a look of pure ecstasy and such _obvious_ innuendo.  
  
It was nice. And Arthur felt like his head was detaching from his shoulders, the night air caressing his skin like Eames did when he thought Arthur was sleeping. Arthur smiled for no reason and leaned over to kiss that lecherous grin off of Eames’s face. He cupped the back of his head and nibbled on that plump bottom lip, pulling back to laugh.  
  
“I love you,” Arthur hummed, eyes half-lidded and probably bloodshot as hell.  
  
Eames just grinned and ran a hand down Arthur’s side. “I love you, too, darling,” he purred, pausing for a moment. “Shall we go, then? We could break out the skull-shaped bong when we get back home,” he snickered, kissing the spot just under Arthur’s jaw.  
  
Arthur just hummed in a pleased sort of way and nodded. “Let’s go, then, Mr. Eames.”  
  
\---  
  
They stumbled out of the park and walked to its exit. They decided to walk along the waterfront until they got to their apartment building, since the night busses only ran every hour or so. And the night was refreshingly cool and sent pleasant shivers across the surface of their skin, so they figured why not?  
  
As they tripped along the wooden boardwalk with its dim evening lights, giggling as Eames nearly fell face-first into the ground when his toe bumped along a loose board, Arthur felt something wet hit the tip of his nose. He stopped giggling and frowned, glancing skyward. “The fuck?” he mumbled, holding a hand out.  
  
Sure enough, he felt a few more droplets. And then a few more. And then more until, suddenly, they were in the middle of a torrential downpour.  
  
“Shit!” Arthur hissed.  
  
Eames hissed as well and scrambled after Arthur. He looked around desperately for some sort of covering, but only found a tiny house on the boardwalk held up on stilts. Well, it would have to do.  
  
He grabbed Eames’s wrist, dragging him underneath the small structure. Eames just started laughing, shaking his wet hair that started sticking to his forehead. “Well, that was unexpected.”  
  
“We should’ve planned for it. We’re on the West Coast, after all. Sudden downpours tend to happen a lot in the summer.”  
  
“You’re like a Boy Scout or something. Always want to be prepared.” Eames grinned.  
  
“Shut up,” Arthur grunted, rolling his eyes, but smirking all the same.  
  
Eames’s eyes raked along Arthur’s frame in a way that made him shiver and his head swim. “You’re _soaked_ , darling,” he murmured, licking those obscenely pouty lips. “Perhaps you should take off those wet clothes. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”  
  
“First off, Eames, it’s summer,” Arthur scoffed, not being able to help but snicker and lean back against one of the wooden stilts. He must be higher than he thought. “So... it’s warm. And since it’s warm out, I won’t catch a cold. So I don’t _have_ to undress.” He paused. “Or something like that.”  
  
“Is there a second point?”  
  
Arthur knit his eyebrows together and pressed his lips. “No. I suppose not,” he mumbled before taking off his soaked shirt and undoing his pants.  
  
Eames laughed and began doing the same. “You’re far easier to get out of your clothes like this, love.”  
  
“Shut up and come here, Eames,” Arthur growled, pressing Eames into one of the stilts and kissing him, all tongue and teeth and _oh_ it was wonderful. In his current state of mind, it hardly registered in Arthur’s head that they were still in a public place and that even though it was three in the morning, it was quite possible that someone would walk by.  
  
But Eames’s hand was on his cock and stroking him in such a lovely way, so the thought didn’t even flit across his mind.  
  
“Eames,” Arthur breathed, mouth on Eames’s shoulder and sucking, teeth scraping the skin. “ _Oh_ ,” he groaned as the Brit’s thumb swiped over the head of his dick.  
  
“You’re so sexy like this, Arthur,” Eames whispered against the side of Arthur’s neck. “So completely undone and incoherent and gorgeous and _fuck_ ,” he murmured, babbling at that point.  
  
Arthur’s mouth hung open and he let out a choked sort of whimper when he felt one of Eames’s fingers—slick with something, when did that happen?—probing at him. He felt the tip of his finger slip in before pulling out and tracing around his asshole.  
  
“Shit,” Arthur whispered, eyelids fluttering. He arched against Eames, rubbing their cocks together and sending an electric shock up his spine. “Please... please,” he gasped.  
  
Eames grinned against Arthur’s throat and wrapped a hand around both their dicks, stroking quickly and thrusting and _oh shit_ that finger was back at his ass and pushing inward so fucking slowly—  
  
“Oh fuck,” Arthur whimpered, eyes screwing shut, hand shooting down to cover Eames’s and quicken the pace. He was so close he could feel it at the pit of his stomach. Eames’s finger inside him was pushing deeper and deeper and then it _hooked_ and Arthur was done.  
  
He let out a quick shout of Eames’s name and came in white hot tingling spurts.  
  
“Wait wait,” he said, breathless, “I have a surprise for you,” he purred and dropped to his knees.  
  
“Arthur, what are you—” Eames started, but ultimately couldn’t finish as Arthur’s mouth was on him and swallowing his cock to the base in one practiced movement.  
  
It didn’t take long—only a couple of spasms of Arthur’s throat and moving off of him with a slow move and hard suck—and he was completely spent. He came onto Arthur’s pretty face, Arthur’s hand stroking him through it and it was fucking amazing.  
  
Arthur grinned and licked his lips, swiping his fingers through the streaks of come on his face and then licking them languidly.  
  
“You’re so fucking sexy,” Eames breathed, “ _darling_.”  
  
“I know,” Arthur sighed, standing up and pulling his pants on. He swayed slightly and laughed, head still fuzzy. He was feeling wonderful, actually. “Home, then?”  
  
“Brilliant idea,” Eames snickered, gripping Arthur’s hand and walking shirtless into the still raining night.  
  
\---  
  
The next morning, they got a call from Cobb that a job had surfaced in Norway and that they were required in Oslo in two days.  
  
They packed up the Ziplocs of weed in various drawers around the Vancouver apartment, put the skull-shaped bong, lube, condoms and Cheetos in cupboards, hung up their t-shirts and jeans and changed into suits. They slipped seamlessly into the Professional Skin.  
  
Eames sighed and looked over at Arthur as he was adjusting his tie in the mirror.  
  
“We’ll be back in a month or so, then?” He grinned.  
  
“Or so,” Arthur sighed, smiling the tiniest bit. He turned around and pressed the gentlest of kisses to Eames’s lips. “We’ll see how the job goes.”  
  
Eames hummed and brushed his fingers down Arthur’s cheekbone. “Perhaps the Amsterdam flat next time?”  
  
Arthur let out a bark of laughed and shook his head. “Perhaps.”  



End file.
